


and then there's a ray of light that melts the loneliness in your heart

by RegalPotato



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Because yes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, River makes a cameo because I am trash and how could she not, TECHNICALLY - heavily implied River/Eighth Doctor too, soft insecure gays are in love and i am weak, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalPotato/pseuds/RegalPotato
Summary: As much as she knows it would disappoint her father, wherever his soul has ended up, Liv has come to believe it’s safer to keep people at a distance. Letting someone break past her emotional walls has never ended well, and she often ponders whether that’s the only reason she’s allowed the Doctor to become as close to her as he has; because, he too, is used to losing those who end up in his orbit, pulled in by the thrill of danger or promise of adventure, who end up burning for him, just like the ancient Earth legend of Icarus flying too close to the sun.aka - Liv has a nightmare and Helen ends up comforting her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morvendigby (hookedphantom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedphantom/gifts).



> I dedicate this fic to Billie as it was their day of birth yesterday, and they are as trash as I am over these two idiot gays.
> 
> Chapter two shall be up in the next few days (it's already finished - I'm just a jerk who wants more love)

* * *

 

 

_“You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control.”_

_― Megan Chance, The Spiritualist_

 

 

Liv wakes with a gasp, sitting up and fisting her hands into the sheets twisted around her thighs. Her eyes are wide, staring blankly at the blackness that envelops her room, chest heaving as she struggles to gulp down oxygen. A bead of cold sweat rolls down her temple, its progress tickling her skin as it slides down her face, but she ignores it, focussing instead on willing her heart to slow its frantic thunderous beating against her ribcage.

 

Detangling the sheets from her body, she swings her legs round and places her feet against the cool carpeted floor of her bedroom. Her dream - though it’s far more accurate to call it a nightmare - has already receded from her mind, leaving nothing but a fading sense of panic and the thrum of adrenaline running through her veins.

 

From past experience, she knows she’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon, so with a defeated sigh, Liv stands from the bed and makes her way out into the TARDIS corridors. The ship is dark at night, but as she walks between the hallways small lights appear, emerging from the walls to guide her way. She smiles softly, sending a quiet thanks to the time ship for looking out for her, and slowly makes her way to the control room.

 

The warm browns of the bookcases, set alight with the blue hues from the dimly glowing console, never cease to calm her nerves. The TARDIS is as much her home as the house she grew up in, and the control room exudes a sense of safety and security, no matter how much Liv knows that’s not always the case. Gently, she strokes her hands against the console, feeling a warm static buzz vibrating against her fingertips.

 

“Where’s the Doctor, Old Girl?” she asks in barely a whisper.

 

She knows the man very rarely sleeps, no matter how often she tells him that even being a Time Lord doesn’t account for how little rest he allows himself. She understands it though, his resistance to closing his eyes and letting sleep take him; it’s far too easy for the monsters of his past to find him that way.

 

The console beeps, a blue dot appearing on the scanner to indicate his location. Unsurprisingly, he’s in the main study, and a small part of her relaxes at the knowledge that he’s okay. She’s not entirely sure what it is he fills his free time with, and she’s not entirely sure she wants to know, but every time she wakes from bad dreams she finds herself searching for him, because it somehow makes everything seem a little less dark.

 

She thanks the TARDIS, turning to leave to head to the kitchens for a cup of tea, when something causes her to hesitate: a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that makes a small spike of anxiety lance through her chest. She spins back to the console and grabs a hold of the scanner, tongue darting out nervously to wet her lips. Before she comes to her senses, she closes her eyes and asks the TARDIS a second question.

 

“And where’s Helen?”

 

The TARDIS stays silent, and for a moment Liv has to wonder if the ship is judging her for keeping tabs on her friend. But something has her worried - be it the remnants of her dream or something more instinctual - and she knows she won’t be able to relax fully until she’s given proof that Helen is okay.

 

The scanner finally pings, the TARDIS apparently taking pity on Liv’s state of mind, and she opens her eyes to see a slightly more purple dot appear on the screen. Her eyebrows lift in surprise as she takes in the location of the marker, because instead of being in Helen’s bedroom, as expected, the little purple dot is showing up in the kitchens.

 

She pats the console in thanks, and resumes her previous path, now with a different objective in mind.

 

When she arrives, Liv draws to a halt in the open doorway of the main kitchen, eyes falling on the lone figure sat at the table, half illuminated by the single light shining in the ceiling. There’s a mug of something grasped between Helen’s hands, and the woman’s body is curled towards it as if she’s using it to try and keep herself warm. Her hair is loose, falling down around her shoulders in a messy waterfall of blonde locks, and she’s dressed in what Liv assumes must be her sleepwear: a long, loose fitting tshirt and lightweight jogging bottoms.

 

Something about the situation, the time of night or the shadows falling across the room, screams of an intimacy Liv isn’t quite sure she’s ready to face. But before she has a chance to back away, to keep Helen at the same distance as everyone else in her life - past or present - the other woman’s eyes rise to meet hers.

 

“Liv?” she says softly.

 

Caught in the act, stomach fluttering with nerves, Liv holds back a wince and takes the last few steps needed to reach the table.

 

“Hello, Helen,” she rasps, her throat still dry from sleep. “Bit late isn’t it? What are you doing up?”

 

“I could ask you the same,” Helen replies, the slight rise of her eyebrows and twist of her lips suggesting she already knows Liv won’t answer the question if she directs it at her instead.  

 

Instead of replying, Liv moves to busy herself with the kettle, taking her time filling it up and switching it on, fully aware of Helen’s eyes following her. Her mind is still slightly fuzzy from her dream, body begging her for sleep even though Liv has no intentions of returning to her bed anytime soon. She stands awkwardly at the counter, watching the water bubble against the inside of the kettle, unsure of what else to do or say.

 

Helen miraculously comes to her rescue, soft voice breaking through the silence.

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, not stopping to let Liv answer. “Me neither. Bad dreams.”

 

The kettle whistles, and Liv grabs a mug and a tea bag before pouring in the water. Not bothering to remove the bag, she turns back to Helen, sliding into the chair opposite her.

 

“Are you okay?” she finds herself asking, that same niggling feeling returning and pressing against her mind.

 

Helen smiles gently, raising her mug to her lips and taking a long sip before replying.

 

“It’s funny,” she says, though the smile slips slightly at her words. “I never used to get nightmares. Even when I was a a little girl. I never woke in the night scared of the monsters under my bed, only to my brothers’ screams when they had bad dreams of their own. It used to take my mother hours to calm George down after a bad night.”

 

Helen’s eyes have taken on a far away glaze, no longer focussed on the here and now. Liv briefly wonders where her friend’s thoughts have taken her, before realising she’s most likely thinking of the family she can never return to. She briefly thinks of her own family, instantly pushing the thoughts away, too tired to untangle the mess of emotions she still has regarding her sister.

 

“I’m sorry,” Liv breathes, shifting her eyes back down to her tea. “About your family.”

 

Helen sighs, and it’s the sound of someone who has far too much weighted on their shoulders.

 

“It’s alright. I still miss them, of course, they were my family. But my mother was the only one I ever truly got on with. And I don’t miss them as much as I probably should.” She lets out a small, bitter laugh that twists something painfully in Liv’s chest. “I suppose that makes me a bad person.”

 

“What? Helen! Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

Helen lifts her head, surprise on her face at Liv’s outburst. Liv keeps her eyes down, watching the tea bag bob gently against the side of the mug, and hopes the warmth blooming on her cheeks is hidden by the darkness of the room.

 

“You’re the furthest from _bad_ anyone could ever be,” she mutters.

 

It’s an awkward declaration, and feels far too much like flattery for comfort, but it’s the truth and she needs Helen to know it. When she risks glancing up, Helen’s eyes are shining in the lone light of the kitchen, a shy smile pulling at her lips.

 

“Thank you, Liv.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?” she says, wanting to push the conversation forwards and away from whatever has just transpired.

 

There’s a pause, Helen’s thumbs tapping out a random rhythm against the rim of her mug, and Liv silently reprimands herself for overstepping her boundaries. She’s about to apologise for asking when Helen takes a deep breath, letting the air out slowly through her nose.

 

“It’s the same one, almost every night,” she says so quietly that, even in the silence of the darkened kitchen, Liv has to strain to hear her. “I’ve had it ever since the Sonomancer _gifted_ me.”

 

The word ‘gifted’ is almost spat from her mouth, a surprising amount of fury hiding behind Helen’s eyes as she thinks of the Sonomancer, of the Kandyman, of the Eleven. Liv swallows, staying silent to give Helen the chance to speak. They’d never talked about it, the months Helen had spent with the psychopathic Time Lord; Helen hadn’t wanted to, and Liv hadn’t wanted to pry. But Liv can see, now, that it’s left a deep wound, raw and bleeding, inside her friend.

 

“I barely remember it most nights. Just flashes, here and there. And usually I can fall back to sleep straight away.” She pauses to take another sip of her drink, eyes focussed on something in the darkness, causing Liv to wonder just what demons Helen is seeing in the shadows. “But not always.”

 

“Does the Doctor know?”

 

“Of course he does. He wanted to help, but there’s not much he can do. He has an awfully large guilt complex doesn’t he?”

 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Liv mutters, thinking of the man he’d been when she’d stumbled across him again amidst the suffering on Nixyce VII, tired and frustrated, barely clinging to the last few remnants of his hope.

 

“Some days, I ache for the simplicity of my life before I met the Doctor,” Helen continues with a soft sigh.

 

Her words cause an ache of their own to take up root behind Liv’s ribcage, a sudden worry that Helen regrets travelling with them, with _her_ . She could have had a normal life if not for the the two of them quite literally crashing into her office at the museum; she could have had a career, a _family._ Liv tastes the apology on her tongue, bitter and sharp, the sudden need to say sorry for every single bit of hell Helen has suffered because of her and the Doctor. But Helen speaks first, gently, barely disturbing the quiet of the darkened kitchen.

 

“But I wouldn't change this for anything, travelling in the TARDIS. I get to be so much more, I get to help people. My actions _mean_ something, now. And, well…” Her face shifts, a shyness taking over her expression as her finger swirls around the top of her mug. “I’d never have met you if it weren't for all this madness.”

 

There's an awkward silence in the wake of her words, Liv not quite able to grasp exactly what it is Helen is trying to say. The woman across from her has her gaze fixed on her drink, bottom lip drawn anxiously between her teeth, and Liv finds it difficult to look away from the sight. She swallows, bringing up a hand to rub the tiredness from her eyes.

 

As much as she knows it would disappoint her father, wherever his soul has ended up, Liv has come to believe it’s _safer_ to keep people at a distance. Letting someone break past her emotional walls has never ended well, and she often ponders whether that’s the only reason she’s allowed the Doctor to become as close to her as he has; because, he too, is used to losing those who end up in his orbit, pulled in by the thrill of danger or promise of adventure, who end up burning for him, just like the ancient Earth legend of Icarus flying too close to the sun.

 

Liv isn’t used to being close to people, hasn’t been in a very long time; she’d kept Molly - poor, sweet Molly O’Sullivan - at an arm's length, despite the young girl’s attempts at friendship. But to open herself up to something other than friendship, or even a few nights of forgettable fun, is too much of a terrifying thought that Liv often tries her best to avoid thinking about it at all.

 

A part of her whispers ‘coward’ in the far reaches of her mind, and she draws in a deep breath, the scent of tea and hot chocolate filling her senses. A small smile pulls at her lips, because Helen avoiding caffeine this late at night is nothing short of her usual sensible self, and it makes Liv’s chest grow tight with affection.

 

“Well,” she starts, pausing to clear the scratchiness from her throat. “I'm glad you met me too.”

 

Helen hides her grin behind her mug of hot chocolate, and the sight stretches Liv’s own smile wider. Until she realises suddenly, a dawning sense of horror manifesting itself like ice pressing against her spine, that somehow the trusting, wonderful, beautiful language scholar has managed to draw Liv out from behind her walls, without her even noticing - and now it’s far too late to retreat.

 

She's broken from her epiphany by her body’s own rebellion, a yawn stretching her mouth wide. She covers it with a hand, but can’t help the large gasp for air, her tired body begging for relief even though she knows if she returns to bed any time soon, sleep will continue to evade her - or worse, drag her right back down into another hellish dreamscape.

 

Helen watches her - eyes bright with curiosity and face still half hidden by her mug of hot chocolate - as Liv wipes away the sleepy tears created by her body’s grasp for oxygen.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Helen asks hesitantly as if she already knows the answer will be ‘ _no_ ’. “Whatever it is that has you up at this hour?”

 

Liv doesn’t reply straight away, giving herself time to think by raising her tea to her mouth and taking a long, slow sip of the hot, black liquid. She can feel it warming her insides when she swallows, and her fingers tighten around the plain white ceramic, allowing the warmth to seep into her palms as well.

 

“I’ve had night terrors for as long as I can remember,” she finds herself saying, ignoring the surprise that appears on Helen’s face.

 

Liv has never discussed her past with anyone, let alone her dreams. The Doctor already knows the story, having been there for most of the truly horrific parts, and anything he doesn’t already know firsthand has probably been figured out by now as well. And with everything Helen has been though since they ruined her career, her _life_ , Liv has never felt confident enough to burden her further.

 

But sat in the half-light of the kitchen, that earlier feeling of intimacy still curling around them both and her epiphany teasing in the back of her mind, something unfurls inside her and Liv finds she can’t stop the words spilling from her lips.

 

“Not sure if it’s just who I am or the way my dad raised me, but I like to figure things out, fit together all the pieces as logically as I can, and come up with the finished puzzle.” Helen nods slightly, as if she already knows - which she probably does - a soft smile on her lips as Liv speaks. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop when I sleep. And this is the result.”

 

Liv shrugs, finishing the last of her tea in one big gulp. She doesn’t feel like explaining what the dreams actually entail: how her nightmares are full of daleks and suffering, radiation and pain, people she barely knows - or worse, people she does know, people she _loves_ \- dying to save her life. Instead, she stays quiet, rotating the mug in her hands and relishing in the sounds it makes as the ceramic scrapes across the surface of the table.

 

“Do you get them every night?” Helen finally says, once she realises Liv isn’t going to offer anything more.

 

She shakes her head in response, wondering briefly if it would be foolish to make herself another cup of tea.

 

“I get them often, but not every night. It’s worse when we’re not busy, when we’re not in the middle of some big, dangerous thing.”

 

Liv stands, splaying out her hands dramatically to emphasise her point, intending to follow Helen’s lead and make herself a cup of hot chocolate. But her vision swims as she steps towards the cupboards, black blurry splodges darkening her sight and causing her to stumble against the table. Helen is up out of her chair and besides Liv in an instant, hands grasping her shoulders to keep her upright.

 

“Just how much sleep have you had recently?” she asks softly, a slight hint of incredulousness in her tone despite the concern.

 

Helen’s hands are warm through the thin tshirt Liv wears to bed and the heat seeps through the fabric, almost burning against her skin. Her eyes flutter, and she yawns again, jaw cracking as it stretches slightly too wide.

 

“Probably about as much as the Doctor,” she replies as the yawn recedes.

 

Helen makes a small hum of disapproval.

 

“He’s an alien. Does he even _need_ sleep?”

 

Liv snorts a laugh through her nose, shifting to pull her shoulders out from under Helen’s hold, despite how much she wants to remain in the warmth the other woman provides. She pauses halfway through dragging her hands down her face to stare through her fingers at Helen’s unimpressed expression.

 

“He needs far more sleep than he gets,” she answers as her hands swing back down to her sides.

 

“That doesn’t surprise me, but you should know better than him, Liv Chenka.”

 

“You don’t have to lecture me, Helen. I know. I just-” she cuts herself off with a sigh.

 

An indent appears between Helen’s brows, forehead wrinkling as she silently demands Liv continue with an explanation.  

 

“I can never get back to sleep after…” she trails off. “And so, I don’t even bother trying anymore.”

 

Helen surprises her by rolling her eyes, the indignity of the action lending itself to another snort of laughter from Liv. Leaving their mugs abandoned on the table, Helen grabs Liv’s hand and all but pulls her from the kitchen. It takes a moment for her to focus her mind through the hazy fog of tiredness, but Liv quickly realises they’re not heading down the corridor towards her bedroom door.

 

“Where are we going?” she asks before clamping her jaw shut to hold back another yawn.

 

“To sleep.”

 

Helen doesn’t deign to explain herself further, only tightens her hand harder around Liv's and continues on down the hall.

 

She's never been in Helen's bedroom before, and as they enter it, Liv can't help but let her steps falter at the sight. Unsurprisingly, the decor is reminiscent of some early regal period in Earth's history - or at least, that's what Liv assumes - soft lighting casting gentle shadows across the thickly carpeted floor, the four poster bed - the same bed she's trying very hard not to look at - draped in deep reds and golds. It's a stark contrast to Liv's own room: a standard bed, boring white sheets, and a few bits and pieces from her travels with the Doctor scattered about the chest of drawers and, sometimes, the floor.

 

The lighting is doing wonders for Helen, curling softly around her delicate features in a way that almost has her glowing. She’s beautiful and Liv’s sleep addled brain only just manages to stop the words from leaving her lips. Fear crawls suddenly up her spine at the thought, tightening around her heart like a vice and almost causing her to choke. She can't do this, no matter how innocent Helen's actions have suggested it will be. The pretty language scholar has somehow become ingrained within Liv's life, wormed her way into Liv's defensive heart, and the very idea of it terrifies her. She cares for Helen far too much to be considered safe, and this moment feels like the final step off the precipice, sending her tumbling down into the abyss below.

 

“Liv?” Helen's soft voice reaches her through the midsts of her sudden panic.

 

“I, uh, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

 

There’s a flash of something - disappointment, hurt - across Helen’s face, but her expression shifts so quickly, Liv wonders if she’d imagined it.

 

“Do you trust me, Liv Chenka?” Helen asks, mouth curling around her name in a way no one else manages, and Liv almost laughs aloud at the absurdity of the question.

 

 _With my life,_ she thinks instead, remembering all the times her faith in Helen has refused to waver, despite everyone around them - including the Doctor - spewing nothing but doubt.

 

“Of course I do, Helen, but-”

 

“Then _trust me_. The only way my mother found to get George back to sleep after his bad dreams, was to stay with him; something about your body relaxing more in the presence of someone close to you.” She pauses, an impish smile appearing on her lips that has Liv’s heart skipping a beat or two. “I could always go and fetch the Doctor instead.”

 

“No!” Liv shouts, knowing full well that Helen will follow through on her threat if challenged.

 

Helen ducks her head, hiding her smirk behind the curtain of blonde hair that falls across her face.  

 

“Then stop being difficult and let me help,” she presses, leaning over and pulling down the covers on her bed.

 

Liv swallows, heart thudding loudly in her chest, and she’s suddenly very glad the Doctor is nowhere nearby, a knowing smirk on his stupid, smug face. Because, somehow, despite his atrocious track record when it comes to understanding humans, he knows exactly how she feels when it comes to Helen.

 

 

> _“_ Live _in the moment,_ Liv _,” he says enthusiastically, a smirk stretching at the corners of his mouth at the pun her name creates. “Life is too short for ‘what ifs’ and regrets.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“We’re not having this conversation.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“That’s funny, I thought we already were.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Doctor,” she all but growls, his answering grin doing nothing for her growing annoyance._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Liv.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Why are you doing this?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Because you’re my best friend, and I want to see you happy,” he says softly, all signs of mirth gone from his expression, replaced by a seriousness that has her wincing._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m_ fine, _” she stresses._
> 
>  
> 
> _“You’re torturing yourself.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“No, no, right now I think it’s you torturing me. Leave it. Please.”_

 

Helen’s enquiring blue eyes drag her back from the memory, her knee half resting on the bed as she watches Liv curiously. Taking a deep breath, and deciding that maybe it’s about high time she takes the Doctor’s advice, Liv steps forwards until the mattress presses against her thighs. She pulls back the duvet, and slides between the covers, Helen following suit with a gentle smile on her face.

 

This bed is larger than her own, leaving plenty enough space for them to lie beside each other without touching. But despite the distance, Liv can feel Helen’s presence keenly, a burning warmth to the right of her. She shifts, lying more comfortably on her back to stare up at the ceiling. There’s a rustling beside her, and a soft click has the room plunging into darkness as Helen turns off the lights.

 

The ceiling above them is breathtaking, coming to life in the sudden lack of light, an expanse of gold stars stretching out across a dark navy sky. Liv knows the TARDIS likes her, they’ve always gotten on well, but the attention to detail in Helen’s room suggests the ship likes her friend just as much, if not more. She briefly wonders if the TARDIS remembers the decades Helen spent learning to fly her - it wouldn’t be surprising, the Doctor has explained time and time again how his ship doesn’t exist in normal space - but then the memory of Helen lying weak and frail in her arms hits her in full force, tangling round her heart like ivy strangling the bricks of an old and crumbling house. She closes her eyes, and focuses on her breathing, forcing the memories away before they return in her nightmares and consume her entirely.

 

Helen is here, safe, alive, she reminds herself, lying right beside her only half an arm’s length away.

 

“Stop thinking,” Helen whispers into the darkness between them, causing Liv to open her eyes and turn her head.

 

She can just make out the faint outline of Helen laying beside her, the ceiling casting the softest glow across the room.  

 

“I’m not!”

 

“I can hear your brain working,” she laughs. “Close your eyes, and just _breathe_.”

 

Liv purses her lips, but does as Helen asks, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes flutter shut once more. She breathes slowly, letting herself sink into Helen’s quite annoyingly comfortable mattress. But no matter how hard she tries, sleep refuses to pull her under though heaven knows how she’s supposed to let herself fall unconscious when Helen is lying so very close.

 

She only just manages to stifle the squeak of surprise when Helen somehow finds her hand in the dark, weaving their fingers together, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. It’s not the first time they’ve held hands, and she knows - from the amount of times they have to drag each other out of danger - it won’t be the last, but under the cover of night, in Helen’s _bed,_ the action feels far more intimate than it ever has before. But despite the fear, and desire, suddenly warring inside her, Liv can’t find it within herself to let her fingers slip free.

 

And somehow, with the sounds of Helen’s soft breathing beside her, warm hand curled around her own, Liv feels herself drifting, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around her consciousness and leading her into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most authors wait like a week to update, but I am weak and so here we go. Enjoy.

She wakes slowly from a dreamless sleep, eyes fluttering open to stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling casting out a gentle morning light above her. There’s a warm weight pressed against her side and it takes a moment for her mind to focus, surfacing from the foggy depths of slumber. The weight shifts, something soft tickling at the underside of her jaw, and - with the starry ceiling blinking at her gently - the previous night comes flooding back.

 

Helen is wrapped around her, head buried against Liv’s shoulder, an arm slung over Liv’s waist, and a leg resting over Liv’s hips. She swallows, wondering how they’d gravitated so easily towards each other in the night. It’s not exactly unpleasant - quite the opposite if she lets herself be truthful - waking to find the woman of her affections curled so tightly around her, but Liv can’t help but ask herself what it might mean for their friendship if Helen wakes up anytime soon.

 

Carefully, Liv lifts Helen’s arm, hoping she’ll be able to slide herself out from underneath the firm hold Helen has on her. But then Helen stirs, shifting against her, her hand coming back down far too close to Liv's breast. Liv swallows heavily, teeth clenching together as a sudden burning desire begins to curl its way through her gut.

 

“Helen,” she murmurs, deciding it will be far easier to just wake Helen up and get the awkwardness over with.

 

“Five more minutes, Liv,” Helen mutters in reply, burying her head deeper against Liv's neck.

 

Liv rolls her eyes, even as a burst of affection warms her insides, and sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow.

 

Trapped where she is for the foreseeable future, she allows herself to relax and tries to enjoy the moment - before Helen inevitably wakes up properly, and awkward stuttering and blushing ensues. Despite Helen being a fair bit taller than her, Liv can’t help but notice how perfectly their bodies curl around each other, their legs tangled together except for the thigh currently pressed across Liv’s hip bones. There’s a warmth encompassing her body, stretching along her torso and limbs like tendrils of fire licking at a fireplace. And it dawns on her slowly, a strange chill numbing the tips of her fingers, the realisation that the arm pinned beneath Helen’s neck has gone dead. Though despite the discomfort, Liv’s surprised to find it doesn’t bother her in the slightest.

 

_This is nice,_ she thinks, eyes widening in horror as she’s betrayed by her own thoughts. Because Liv Chenka doesn’t _do_ nice. There’s cynical sarcasm, and running for her life: the two constants that never change. But, as Helen murmurs something in her sleep, lips brushing lightly against the pulse point in Liv’s neck, she can’t stop the thought that waking up like this every morning would be nothing short of wonderful.

 

Slightly nauseated by her own soppy mind, she focuses back on the growing discomfort in her body, shifting her shoulder to relieve some of the pressure Helen’s weight is putting on the joint. Helen moans in protest at the movement and the sound goes straight through Liv, accompanied by an unwanted, but not unpleasant, flash of heat. She thumps her head against the pillow a few times, mind far too addled by the desire pooling in her gut to think of a way out of this more-than-slightly-awkward mess.

 

“Helen,” she hisses, trying again. “I think it’s time to wake up.”

 

“M’comfortble,” comes the almost incomprehensible reply, the warm breath against Liv’s neck doing nothing to help her situation.

 

“Come on, Helen,” she presses.

 

She turns her head to look down at the mop of messy blonde hair hiding Helen from view, only to suddenly find Helen’s mouth pressed against her own. Liv’s brain goes blank, all thought seemingly evaporating under the feel of Helen’s lips moving over hers. Instinctively she opens her mouth, and Helen deepens the kiss instantly, tongue sliding against Liv’s and causing her nerves to spark like lightning down her spine. Helen tastes of sweet tea and mint chocolate and Liv can’t stop the moan that’s pulled from deep inside her, the hand not trapped between them sliding over Helen’s thigh to grip tightly at her hip. Helen’s hands are fisted into the front of Liv’s shirt, thumbs pressing hard against her collarbones, and she’s not sure if it’s the groggy remnants of sleep or the tendrils of flame curling inside her, but something snaps Liv’s self restraint, her hand tugging at the other woman’s waist and settling Helen over her hips. Helen gasps, pulling back momentarily to regain her balance, hands flattening against Liv’s shoulders for purchase. She recovers almost immediately, mouth slamming back against Liv’s, a pleased hum in the back of her throat that almost causes Liv to come undone entirely.

 

Liv's hand slips under Helen’s shirt, fingers digging into the warm, pale skin she finds there, and it’s only when she tries to lift her other hand that she’s suddenly and painfully reminded of it’s previous lack of feeling. Static shoots up her arm, a burning thrum accompanied by a thousand tiny needles pricking at her flesh, and Liv tears her mouth away from Helen’s with a hiss.

 

“Shit, ow ow ow owww.”

 

Helen blinks once, twice, three times, before her brain seemingly switches back on, eyes widening as reality sets in around her.

 

“Oh. This...this is not a dream, is it?”

 

“What?” Liv bites out, flexing her hand and begging to gods she doesn’t believe in that the pain in her arm will hurry up and leave.

 

“I thought I was dreaming,” Helen says softly, eyes fixed on a point somewhere above Liv’s head, a deep red blush blooming across her cheeks.  

 

Liv stares at her for a moment, mouth open in surprise at Helen's admission, the pain in her arm slowly receding into a dull throbbing that leaves a soft static fuzzing at her fingertips. She swallows, eyes following the path of embarrassment staining Helen’s skin until her eye line is resting at the collar of Helen’s shirt.  

 

“Is that, a, uh, frequent occurrence?”

 

“Thinking something is a dream?” Helen replies, voice noticeably strained despite her attempt at nonchalance. “No, I can't say that it is.”

 

“Helen.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Liv? That I've dreamt of kissing you from pretty much the moment we met?”

 

Liv’s heart does a summersault behind her rib cage, the hand resting over Helen's hip tightening ever so slightly at Helen's words. Her other hand - the one that had interrupted them with it’s abrupt sense of feeling - slides up the front of Helen’s thigh, almost of its own accord, to curve possessively around her hip. There’s a lump of emotion burning through Liv’s throat, and the image of Helen sat above her, hair in disarray, cheeks painted a delightful shade of pink, rekindles the warmth inside her. She licks her lips nervously, unsure of what to say in the midsts of Helen’s reserved panic.

 

She doesn’t get the chance to speak, however, as Helen sighs at Liv’s lack of a verbal response, dipping her head and keeping her gaze lowered.

 

“Sorry, I…I've ruined everything, haven't I? Do you think maybe we could just forget this ever happened?”

 

Liv almost laughs, the idea of forgetting the feel of Helen’s mouth against her own, the warmth of Helen’s body pressed so close against hers, seeming like an impossible task. If she lives to be a million years old, this moment will remain branded in her memories like scorch marks burnt across paper.

 

And yet, still, she struggles to find words to say, her fear continuing to hold her hostage. She can almost _hear_ the disappointed sighs of the Doctor and her father, ‘ _live your life, Liv’_ echoing in her ears. She swallows, fingers pressing harder against Helen’s skin, thumbs brushing over Helen’s hip bones. Her movements have Helen’s eyes flicking up to find her own, bright blue shimmering with a sheen of unshed tears.

 

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” Liv finally manages to choke out, throat rasping, somehow maintaining her hold on Helen’s gaze.

 

“Oh, well. I...that’s...good.”

 

“Good?”

 

“Yes.”

 

This time she does laugh, a short expulsion of air at the ridiculousness they’ve found themselves in. It makes her braver, somehow, the feeling that she has the upper hand. Helen _wants_ her, and despite the terror that it can only end in heartache for them both, Liv knows she owes it to herself, to her father, to at least try and be happy.

 

“Do you think,” she starts, thumbs continuing to rub over Helen’s hip bones. “We could talk about this later?”

 

“Oh?”

 

Liv lifts a knee, unbalancing Helen and sending her falling forwards, her hands landing either side of Liv’s head.

 

“There are far better uses for our mouths right now.”

 

Her ‘oh’ of understanding is cut off, transforming into a deep moan as Liv surges upwards to capture Helen’s lips with her own.

  


\--

 

Hours later, when they finally make it to the kitchen for a very, _very_ late breakfast, they find their mugs have been cleared away, replaced by two TARDIS blue cups half filled with sweet tea. The tea is cold, abandoned by whoever had been drinking it, and Liv can’t hold back the annoyed sigh that’s drawn from her throat as she smells the distinct scent of cordite in the air.

 

“River?” Helen muses, confirming she can smell it too.

 

Liv hums in reply, clearing away the two mugs from the table and shoving them into the sink slightly more aggressively than necessary.

 

“What’s River doing here?”

 

“I don’t know, and I don’t think we _want_ to know.”

 

“You don’t like her very much, do you?” Helen asks, amusement curling around her words. “She saved our lives you know.”

 

Liv chews her lip for a moment, wondering if it will look out of place if she starts scrubbing the mugs clean instead of letting the TARDIS tidy away as usual.

 

“I still don’t trust her,” she mutters, lowering her voice even further when she continues with, “And I don’t like the way you look at her either.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

She turns away from the sink, spinning back to face Helen whose eyebrows have raised expectantly. Her mouth is moving before her brain has chance to explain why it’s a bad idea, her insecurities pushing their way to the surface.

 

“All...big eyes and infatuated wonder,” she blurts.

 

A grin bursts slowly across Helen’s face, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she makes her way around the table that separates them. There’s a purpose in her step, a slight swing to her hips, and Liv finds herself transfixed.

 

“Liv...are you... _jealous_?”

 

“No!” she shouts instantly, deflating slightly under Helen’s disbelieving stare. “Maybe.”

 

Helen’s expression softens at that, understanding evident in her eyes despite the amusement radiating from her. She takes another step forwards, closing the distance between them and curling her fingers gently into the fabric of Liv’s shirt, heels of her palms resting against Liv’s hips as she tugs ever so slightly.

 

“I think it’s time you and I had that that talk you promised me,” Helen says. “Because it’s _you_ I want. Not River. Not anyone else. _You_.”

 

Liv swallows, eyes unable to pull away from where they’ve landed on Helen’s mouth as she speaks.

 

“That’s…good.”

 

“Good?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She winces at her echo of their previous conversation, a less than ideal reply, but Helen laughs softly in response, releasing a hand from the fabric of her shirt to curl a loose lock of hair back behind Liv’s ear.

 

“You really know how to make a girl feel loved, Liv Chenka” she teases.

 

“I do,” Liv’s saying before she can stop herself, a jolt of horror sliding down her spine as Helen freezes and her own words sink in. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she makes the split second decision to risk it all. “Love you, I mean.”

 

Helen doesn’t move, mouth parted slightly, eyes large and bright, and Liv’s heart attempts to break free from the confines of her chest. It’s pounding so vigorously she can feel it pulsing in her fingertips, her panic overwhelming her, blurring her vision so that all she can see is Helen’s shocked expression staring back at her.

 

“And...and that terrifies me. A lot. Our life isn’t exactly safe, you’ve almost died more times than I can count and I _can’t_ _lose you_ , Helen.”

 

There’s a pause in the air around them, a beat in time so strong that Liv can feel it pricking at her nerves. But then Helen moves, dipping her head so their mouths collide roughly, all soft lips and teeth and tongue; and just like water rushing through a broken dam, time resumes forcefully around them.

 

Her hands go straight to Helen’s face, pulling her down harder as she leans up into the kiss. Helen’s hand is curled tightly into her hair now, the hand still on Liv’s hip gripping almost bruisingly hard. Kissing Helen might no longer be a brand new experience, but Liv _knows_ it will never cease to light her insides on fire.  

 

Her back collides with the counter behind her, a soft moan swallowed by Helen’s unrelenting mouth, and Liv’s desire-addled mind is part way through asking if they’re about to shag in the kitchen when an awkward cough has them springing apart.

 

“My, my, what a sight,” a familiar female voice purrs. “Please, don’t stop on our account.”

 

Peering around Helen shows River and the Doctor have returned to the kitchen: the former sporting a bright grin on her face, the latter seemingly pleased but uncomfortable, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.

 

“River, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Helen says in greeting, and whilst her tone is as polite as ever, Liv can still hear annoyance in her voice.

 

She almost jumps when Helen’s hand drops behind her to curl gently around Liv’s own.

 

“I need the Doctor’s help with something, but one thing led to another, and well, you know how it is.” She eyes them knowingly, a smirk twisting her lips. “The Planet of the Yilderbeasts awaits us. Shall we?”

 

With one final appreciative glance at them both, River turns on her heel and sashays out of the kitchen, an over exaggerated sway to her hips. Unsurprisingly, three pairs of eyes watch her leave, and Liv can’t help but wonder if River Song douses herself in pheromones every morning.

 

“Uh, we should probably...Yilderbeasts and all. Love a good Yilderbeast,” the Doctor mutters, pointing out of the kitchen, eyes glancing between them and the door his - whatever River is - left through.

 

He leaves as well, then, a slight bounce to his step, and Liv hates that she notices the state his hair is in, and how very rumpled his shirt is: because she really doesn’t want to know what the Doctor gets up to in his spare time, least of all when it’s with River bloody Song.

 

She sighs, running a hand through her hair to try and calm the mess it’s become, and slips her other hand from Helen’s grip.

 

“I suppose it’s back to the madhouse,” she mutters.

 

“Liv, wait.”

 

“The Doctor needs us, Helen. God knows what will happen if we let the two of them deal with whatever a _Yilderbeast_ is by themselves. We can talk later.”

 

“No, I know. I just...before we get dragged into another situation that will have us running for our lives, I wanted to tell you: I love you too.”

 

Warmth bursts through her chest as Helen’s hand slips back into her own, a perfect fit, squeezing tightly in reassurance. Liv swallows, ignoring the slight blur to her vision and hoping Helen can’t see how close she is to tears.

 

“Well, that’s...” she trails off, her smile bright as she struggles to find the right word.

 

“Good?” comes Helen’s reply, her own smile widening into a beautiful, teasing grin.

  
“ _Brilliant_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
